


When All That's Left

by KalicoFox



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, Medicinal Drug Use, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Mystery Character(s), Sad-ish stuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalicoFox/pseuds/KalicoFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is the vague feeling of something forgotten, how do you know what's real?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All That's Left

There's something wrong.

You aren't sure what it is, but you know it's there.

Or not there.

You aren't sure.

You just _know_.

Sometimes, when you're startled or upset, you'll find yourself reaching for something.

But nothing comes.

No one comes.

There's nothing there.

Sometimes, when you're listening to a song, or watching a movie, or staring out the window, or looking at yourself in the mirror, there'll be a _shift_ , and you'll squirm inside your skin, suddenly uncomfortable, because you know that something is missing.

An old friend.

A name.

A body part.

Something is wrong.

Something is missing.

Some _one_ is missing?

You don't know, and that's almost more frustrating than the constant feeling of having _almost_ remembered something.

This world is wrong.

It's where you grew up. You know the rules. But it's wrong. There's something off. It isn't supposed to be like this.

Sometimes, all you can feel is such an overwhelming wave of homesickness that it's all you can do to curl up, hide under your blankets and bawl.

Which leads to you parents, worried, taking you to a therapist, then a psychiatrist.

Which leads to pills, and the world fading away to a grey haze that you can't muster up the energy to care about.

You hate that feeling, distantly, in a corner of your mind that still feels like you, and you stop taking the pills without telling either your parents, or the psychiatrist.

By the time they've fully worn off, you can barely remember anything that happened while you were on them. Just a grey fog, with an event here or there poking through. You lose two whole years of your life to that fog.

You hate that feeling even more, now that you can actually feel again, but your parents keep making you go to the psychiatrist, and the psychiatrist prescribes more pills, and you're made to take them.

These ones make you not sleep. You have energy for days, and you spend your nights listening to music and writing frantically in notebooks, until you crash, hard, and sleep for almost three days straight.

When you wake up, you swear off those pills too, and can't read anything you'd written in your notebooks. It's all in symbols you don't recognize.

(But they feel so familiar.)

More pills, and more pills and more pills are fed to you, and always there are things that make you either stop taking them on your own, or that make your parents take you off of them.

You do nothing but sleep, or you can't eat, or you fly into violent rages.

Until the only thing they can do is shrug, and say that there's nothing they _can_ do, and really, feeling displaced, and like you're missing something important isn't really going to hurt you in the long run, and the pills stop.

And if, as you grow up, you sometimes wonder if this is all a dream? If maybe, like with all dreams, if you die, you'll wake up where things make sense? Well, that's no one's business but your own. And it's not like you've tried more than once or twice. But it didn't work, and no one noticed, so it's okay.

And you ended up convincing yourself that if you were wrong, and that this really was all there was, you'd be fairly majorly inconveniencing the people you left behind, so you stopped trying, and started just trying to deal with it.

So you grow up, feeling alienated by your own body, and your own mind, and you isolate yourself, until you aren't sure how to deal with people any more. And when you do go out, you feel so awkward that you don't want to repeat the experience, so you stop going out, until all that's left is you, in your apartment, doing everything you can to distract yourself from the constant, prevailing feeling that _everything is wrong. This is not how everything is supposed to be._

But there's nothing you can do about it.

Nothing except distract, and redirect, and do everything you can not to think about how wrong it all is.


End file.
